


life model fucktoy

by deluxemycroft



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Clone Sex, Clones, Comic, Coming Untouched, Cumshot, Deaf Clint Barton, Dirty Talk, Hawkeye Freefall, Hawkeye: Freefall, Life Model Decoys, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, biting kink, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deluxemycroft/pseuds/deluxemycroft
Summary: Clint has more than one use for his Life Model Decoy.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Life Model Decoy Clint Barton, mention of Clint/Bucky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	life model fucktoy

**Author's Note:**

> lmfaoooooooooooo
> 
> this is so self indulgent excuse me
> 
> please read hawkeye freefall its 100% quinnessential clint barton, and @ matt rosenberg: im sorry i did this. i hope you never see this. i know you said you don't know what ao3 is but i have a great fear in my heart that you do know what it is and i thank you for bringing more hawkeye content into this world so i can immediately cast my perversions on it. i wrote this after hawkeye freefall #4 came out, which was absolutely delightful.
> 
> anyway i love clint barton

Look.

Okay.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he says that all the time and does it anyway. But he’s _curious._

He’s seen the guy—robot—naked before, and yeah, somehow they’d made an exact replica. There were still a couple new scars he’d acquired since whenever this robot had been made, but everything else was exactly the same. _Exactly._

He really doesn’t wanna know how SHIELD knew there are freckles on the base of his dick.

The Life Model Decoy is kind of a ditz, but it’s not like Clint is any better. The guy has all his mannerisms, all his little tics, all the things he didn’t realize he did them until he watched himself do them.

He’s lounging on his couch, not really paying attention to the news, thinking about the next step in his plan with Ronin, when the LMD comes out of the bathroom. Clint didn’t even know the guy needed to shower, but here they are. He has one of Clint’s ragged, skimpy towels around his waist, water trickling down his back and chest and legs. _Clint’s_ legs.

Yeah, he’s fucking hot. Goddamn it.

Clint sits up and watches the robot as he pads around the apartment. He’s curious, alright? Just curious. He’s kind of a slut, he knows that, and he’s fucking good in bed. No complaints after all, from anyone, and he’s thinking about that when the LMD stops momentarily in front of him and then sits next to him, legs splaying out, thighs open, and Clint absolutely knows without a doubt that the robot’s dick is soft against his thigh, just like his own, right under that towel.

Fuck. Goddamn it.

The LMD—he’s gotta start calling him _something_ —turns his head and looks over Clint in the same way Clint has looked at dozens of potential fucks and then leans in far too close to reach one strong, muscled arm across him to grab the remote.

He really has nice shoulders. Clint thinks he should start wearing tank tops more often, show himself off a bit more. He smiles at how scandalized Bucky and Falcon would get if he showed up to a mission with a crop top on, and then he really settles in to think about stretching and showing himself off for Bucky, who always watches him and pretends he’s not.

Clint wonders if he should do something about that. There’s potential there.

His train of thought is cut off by the LMD moving a bit, settling deeper into the corner of the couch, thighs splaying apart even _further,_ and one arm moves up onto the arm of the couch and the other stretches along the back of the couch, fingers barely brushing against the back of Clint’s neck. Clint doesn’t shiver. He doesn’t. But his gut fucking _clenches_ and he slowly, very slowly, turns his head to look at the robot version of himself.

Francis. He’ll call this version of himself Francis. Robot-him, whatever.

Francis is smirking at him. He’s lost his wide-eyed curiosity at the world around him and instead is looking at Clint like he’s fucking dinner, and for a moment, Clint thinks he should stop this before it starts, but, hey, he’s always been good at making bad decisions, and this one feels so fucking delicious.

He moves forward first, slinging over Francis’s lap to settle on his massive, toned thighs, sliding his hands over those wide shoulders, and Francis’s hands go to his hips like they belong there. Clint looks down at himself and Francis raises an eyebrow at him, gaze still dark and hungry and heated.

Fuck.

Yeah, alright.

Clint tips downward as Francis surges upward, the two of them smiling against each other’s mouths, and then Clint is kissing himself. It takes a few moments for them to figure it out—when Clint goes left, Francis goes right, and they falter for a moment, noses bumping and teeth clashing, and then Francis’s mouth opens and Clint slides in, hot and heavy and wow, okay. Wow. He’s always known he’s good at kissing but has never experienced it for himself and yeah, this is gonna give him a huge confidence boost in the bedroom.

Francis chuckles into his mouth, fingers tightening on Clint’s hips, tipping him forward so their groins are closer, and Clint settles deeper on top of him, knowing he can take his weight. Clint pulls back a bit so he can look over his own face, sees the way his lips go plump and pink, the ring of color around his blown-out pupils, the way his hair is damp and mussed, and Clint brings up a hand and slides his fingers through Francis’s hair.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Francis murmurs to him, tipping his head into Clint’s grasp the exact way Clint has tipped his head into other hands in the past, and it’s kind of weird and creepy, but also kind of hot. “You’re going to be insufferable in bed after this.”

Clint grinned. “I’ve always been insufferable,” he replied cheekily, watching in delight as Francis rolls his eyes, and then he leans back in for another kiss. This time, it's easier, tongues slipping together, Clint exploring the confines of his own mouth, hand tightening in Francis’s hair to tilt his head just in the right spot so Clint can plunder his mouth. There’s a chip in one of his molars that Clint hadn’t gotten repaired yet whenever they made Francis, and he can feel the old scar across his tongue from the tongue ring he had for a few years after he left the circus.

He thinks about Francis having a tongue ring and shivers, slides the last few inches closer and slots their crotches together, half-hard cock against half-hard cock, and they both groan into each other’s mouths. Fuck. _Fuck._

He’s always liked kissing. He’s good at it, good at taking someone apart with just his mouth, and Clint pulls back just enough to slide his mouth down over Francis’s jaw and bites at the sensitive skin behind his chin. Francis’s hips jump and he lets out a whimper that Clint himself has let out dozens of times in his life when the exact same thing has been done to him. He noses down Francis’s throat, hand in his hair keeping him in place, and bites down over his collarbones, noses over his strong shoulders. He’s never been able to see the strength in himself before, not like this, and Clint has a good idea of his own strength but it’s never been used against him. He intends to change that tonight, because _Jesus fucking Christ._

Francis looks smug and Clint wants to wipe that look off his face, so he surges up onto his knees and yanks Francis’s hair back so the long line of his neck is exposed. Clint has had quite a few lovers in his life, some good, some bad, some wanted, some not. But he’s never had one that has been able to play his body like a fiddle, and he knows he has a spot on his neck that seems to have a direct line to his dick, and Clint bites it, sinks his teeth in, and Francis gasps and then moans.

Then Francis’s hands disappear from his hips and his arms reappear under Clint’s thighs, and then Francis lifts him up into the air and turns him and slams Clint down onto the couch. Clint’s hand falls from his hair and grab onto whatever part of Francis he can reach as the LMD pins him down and fucks his tongue into Clint’s mouth like he’s going to try to crawl inside of him. Francis claws at Clint’s shirt and yanks it up so he can slide his hands over Clint’s abs, and Clint’s breath catches in his throat as Francis thumbs at his nipples.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps out, thrashing on the couch as Francis pulls back enough to pull Clint’s shirt off and throw it across the room. His dick is suddenly his biggest priority and Clint reaches down to push down his pants, but Francis catches his hand and pins it to his side. “Please, you gotta—”

One of his own hands push down on his chest and fuck, he’s _strong_. Clint doesn’t know if it’s robot strength or he’s always been that strong, but there’s absolutely no way he’s going anywhere if Francis doesn’t let him up. He can feel his cock pulse and his hips jump as he is well and truly pinned down.

“I don’t gotta _do_ anything,” Francis tells him, moving his hand from Clint’s chest to pin his other hand down to his side. He noses down Clint’s chest and Clint’s entire body seizes up as he finally latches onto one of Clint’s nipples. It feels like it has a direct line to Clint’s dick and prostate and his gut clenches and twists. Francis bites a ring around Clint’s nipple and pauses for a moment. “You’re right,” Francis tells him, “you would look good with nipple rings.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it,” Clint gasps out as Francis digs his teeth into his other pectoral. “Just can’t take the time off work.”

Blue eyes flick up and over his face and Francis chuckles. Clint can feel his skin heat; oh right, he can’t lie to this man. Francis knows him inside and out. “You’d miss everyone too much,” Francis finally says, not saying what they’re both thinking. Maybe he isn’t as much of an asshole as everyone thinks he is.

Then, of course, Francis bites his nipple and his entire body twists up and he can feel pre-come flood his boxers. Francis chuckles and leans down to finally pull the towel from around his waist, and then he sits up a bit and twists the towel up into a rope and wraps it around both of Clint’s wrists. He pushes Clint’s wrists up over his head and then moves up to bite around his armpit and then over the soft skin of his biceps. Fuck.

He cranes his head around to watch himself bite himself and instead of being weird, it’s fucking hot as hell. He can feel his cock finally slap against his stomach and his hips hike up at the feeling, and then Francis brings down a hand to pin down Clint’s hips.

“Please,” Clint whimpers, breath catching in his chest when Francis bites at the delicate skin on the inside of his arm. “I need—”

“Shut up,” Francis tells him, sitting up, and by God, he’s fucking glorious. There’s a soft sheen of sweat on his skin, muscles bulging and tensing under his skin, mouth wet and eyes sharp. His cock is fucking _beautiful_. Clint has watched himself jerk off before but he’s never seen himself like this.

He’s always been able to use his body to his advantage because he has a good body. He’s always been strong and powerful and yeah, he eats like shit some of the time, but he also lives a fairly active lifestyle and has a secret gym in the basement of his apartment building that he works out in. He knows he’s good at what he does—there’s no one better—but he _does_ have to keep up with superheroes and spies and all that jazz. 

All that means is that Francis is fucking gorgeous. He’s all long lines of muscle, scars and tanned skin, strong as a goddamn bull, and his arms are huge and his shoulders are works of art and his dick is _unbelievable_ . Clint has never seen himself like this before. Has he looked like this all this time? How has he even waffled on asking out Barnes when he looks this goddamn good? 

Francis smirks at him, and then his eyes move down from Clint’s face to the hard, weeping cock at his hips. He licks his lips and keeps one hand on Clint’s chest while he bends down, and Clint lets out a gasp as warm lips and a quick tongue descends on his dick. He’s always liked giving blowjobs and has given more than his fair share of them over the years, which means he’s good at them, which means Francis is good at them, which means Francis knows exactly what Clint likes.

He strains against the towel around his wrists as Francis keeps a wet, low suction around Clint’s cock as he swallows him down. He can feel the way Francis’s tongue laves around the vein underneath, the way his lips stretch around Clint’s length, the way the head of his cock slips into the warm expanse of Francis’s throat. Francis hums and Clint gasps, staring down at his cock slowly disappearing between his own lips. He can see the way Francis’s eyes crinkle at the corners as Clint stares at him, dumbfounded as pleasure shocks his system. 

He might not be able to go back to another person after this. He might just be stuck with this fucking robot for the rest of his life. Francis brings down his hand to gently roll Clint’s heavy, tender balls, and then his other hand is somehow lubed up—of course he knows Clint hides a container of lube in the couch cushions for when he’s too lazy to go upstairs to his bedroom—and it’s pressing at Clint’s hole.

One finger slides in, easily as anything, and unerringly finds his prostate. He gasps and yelps and twists, body arching up, dick sliding deeper into Francis’s mouth, and Francis’s hand disappears from Clint’s balls to push down on his stomach. He sucks deeply and wetly and _perfectly_ at Clint’s cock and then slowly, agonizingly so, pulls off it, licks his lips and runs his tongue over the wide, fat head. Clint whimpers at the sight.

He really does look good with a cock in his mouth.

“Like this?” Francis asks.

He shakes his head immediately. “Fuck me first,” Clint demands, eyes falling down to Francis’s cock, which is somehow still hard, and he licks his own lips.

Francis raises an eyebrow and then his finger pushes against Clint’s prostate again, enough for Clint to whimper again, hips trying to twist up and back into his touch again, and then he’s suddenly empty as Francis grabs his hips in both hands and hikes his hips up, Clint’s long legs wrapping around his thighs. Francis leans over him so their cocks are brushing up against each other and the both of them stare as Francis takes them both in hand, identical cocks slowly sliding against each other. It’s so goddamn hot that Clint feels like he’s going to come just from the sight of it.

Francis manages to work Clint up enough to the point where his entire body is trembling and he’s begging for release in short, whining gasps under his breath, and Francis’s fingers prod at his hole again. Clint opens for him like the slut he is, Francis chuckling at him.

“Slut,” Francis says, a bit breathier than Clint knows he meant to be. Clint throws his head back to show off his throat, arches up his chest and strains against the towel still tying his wrists together. He has a good idea of what he looks like, especially now he knows just what Francis is seeing. He is a slut and he fucking loves it. “You whore,” Francis continues, and Clint flushes, moans again, a bit higher and breathier than before. It hits Francis right where Clint knew it would and he watches avidly as Francis’s dick twitches a bit, and then two fingers slide inside Clint like they’re meant to be there.

He’s fingering himself, but it also doesn’t feel like it. But he knows his own fingers and they stretch him perfunctorily and quickly, Clint straining and flexing and sweating and begging and then another finger joins the two, roughly stretching him, because Francis knows he can take it and knows he likes it like this.

Then he’s empty and Clint watches as Francis lubes himself up, watches as his own hand wraps around his own cock, and then he slides deeply into himself, the two of them letting out identical, low moans.

“Fuck,” the both say.

“You’re so tight,” Francis gasps.

“Your dick is so big,” Clint gasps, and Francis tips forward, hips slowly starting to pulse forward, cock shoving into him, making a space for him. He bites at Clint’s jaw and then his hands come up to wrap around Clint’s hips to hike him up so Francis can fuck into him.

Then Francis straightens up and shoves so deep into him that Clint just...collapses. He sags down against the arm of the couch while Francis hunches over him and fucks into him like a beast, sweat dripping off him, a snarl on his face, fingers digging so deep into Clint’s sides that he knows there’s going to be bruises and cuts from where his nails are breaking the skin. His cock feels like it’s punched the breath out of Clint’s body. He’s so deep and his cock is so fat and heavy and Clint is so full of it. He tries to tighten around Francis, around his own cock inside of himself, but he’s just sagged there on the couch, stunned by it all. No sex before this has ever felt this good and Clint can only imagine he’s going to spend the rest of his life comparing sex to getting fucked by himself.

Francis knows exactly when to slam against Clint’s prostate and when to tease him and change the angle to the point where Clint is whimpering for it. He’s so full and stretched around himself that it feels like he’s going to drown in it.

Francis pins him down and takes what he wants, doesn’t let him move at all or try to twist his hips down deeper on the cock filling him up, ignores his begging and pleading and whimpering and bites at him when he tries to shift to get the angle better. It feels like Francis has carved a space for him inside Clint and he’s going to be empty for the rest of his life. He’s so goddamn greedy for it that he feels like he’s going to die if Francis ever stops fucking him.

Clint comes back to himself a bit to hear that Francis is growling things at him. He’s telling him what a whore he is, how well he’s taking it, how good he feels around him, how later, he’s going to properly tie Clint down and fuck into him with one of those vibrators Clint has upstairs and slide his cock inside him alongside it.

The image of that is what has Clint finally coming all over his stomach with a shout of his own name, completely untouched, feeling his cock flex and spurt hot come all over himself. He gasps and stares up at Francis, who chuckles at him, and then his rough thrusts slow down to where he’s fucking lazily into Clint, pulling all the way out until the head of his cock is kissing against Clint’s hole and then thrusting back into him one one long, hard thrust, over and over again. He’s starting to shiver with overstimulation when Francis finally pulls out of him and yanks at Clint until he’s flat on the couch, and Clint watches with wide eyes as Francis moves up him to kneel over Clint’s torso, cock right in his face.

He opens his mouth but Francis just chuckles at him, begins fisting his cock, twisting with his palm around the head in the way Clint likes. When he comes, spurting over Clint’s face and his desperate, waiting mouth, his own come landing on his tongue and cheeks, Francis just laughs at him.

Francis drops his cock and it slaps wetly against Clint’s face. He noses at it and notices the freckles along the base of it, right where they are on his own dick. Clint chuckles.

“Did you mean it about the vibrator?”

“I’m gonna fuck you until you pass out,” Francis promises, and once Clint regains enough strength to stagger to his feet, he pulls the LMD upstairs and shoves him to the bed. They have a lot more to do and not much time to do it, and Clint doesn’t mean to let a moment go to waste. He’ll deal with Ronin later.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! please leave kudos and comments
> 
> please follow me:
> 
> twitter: @whenhedied  
> tumblr: @deluxemycroft


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